


The Diary of R.M. Renfield

by profound_duplicity



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Backstory, Blood, Bugs & Insects, Canon Compliant, Diary/Journal, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Epistolary, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Character(s), POV Minor Character, Period Typical Ableism, Period Typical Attitudes, Vampire Turning, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29995743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profound_duplicity/pseuds/profound_duplicity
Summary: R.M. Renfield is more than just a fly-eating lunatic whose only purpose was to foreshadow Count Dracula's arrival in London, that much is clear. But how did he get to where he is now?A series of journal entries and memories recount how Renfield was ensnared in the Master's web, how he found himself in the Seward Sanatorium, and why he is... well, him.
Kudos: 6





	The Diary of R.M. Renfield

**January 31, 1897**

Much of the time I spent in St Thomas’ before my institutionalisation here is an indistinct blur, but I shall try to recount it in all the detail I can, since the Doctor says it might help with my “stress”.

The hot poultices applied to my forehead and chest by the nurses provided no relief and only served to intensify my fever, and I found myself in a delusional state. I believed I was being tortured, interrogated, and would surely be killed for injuring such a prominent member of society. In turn, my fever created an insatiable thirst, but the St Thomas' Hospital staff provided me with nothing but hot saline for my health. I was frantic, fevered and could not speak a word for the weeks I was imprisoned there, save for the occasional scream or grunt. 

The Master’s presence during these weeks was absent, and this only made me more insensible. Of course, He was only trying to help by making me less dependent, but in my fevered state  **~~I believed He had abandoned me completely~~.**

Visions of mist, plagues of insects, drowning and handwriting on my walls plagued me, as did certain auditory hallucinations. I could smell the coppery stench of blood, and tasted flesh in all the food I ate. For this reason, I ate very little.

Not every vision was bad. There was one occasion on which I saw swarms of iridescent butterflies and breathtakingly enormous moths, perched all about my room — even upon my covers and skin! I recall begging the Master to let me see this display again, but He must not have heard.

After a number of months confined to this barred hospital room, the general consensus was that my condition would likely never improve, and so a more permanent home must be found for me. I was informed that my parents had found a respectable Sanatorium to send me to that would facilitate my recovery. The superintendent’s name was Seward, and I must travel to Purfleet. I understood none of this at the time — I was still completely delirious — but I can remember it almost perfectly now.

* * *

**February 4, 1897** ****

Couldn’t write for several days after falling ill with a fever, but today I am well enough to continue. Nurse Simmons says it was the sparrows what upset my stomach so much. Perhaps she is right. 

The private Sanatorium was beautiful when I arrived there, situated as it was next to that old abbey with the sprawling forest behind it and the dark lake in front. It seemed almost like a gated community, and had many small buildings scattered within the bounds. Still, I viewed it as a prison — a beautiful one, but a prison nonetheless. It served only to further separate me from Him. 

I was taken in, my hands restrained in a muff, and shown to my new quarters by an orderly. Not long after he left, the superintendent Seward arrived to greet me. 

He was a narrow little man with a pale, thin face and dark hair. He looked all stretched out, like jam scraped across toast. He went on and on about how this was a place of healing and that I would get the best care available in all of London.. All rubbish, I thought. How would this be any different to that awful hospital? What could this little man, not yet thirty years old, possibly do to help me? I admit I despised him (and every other attendant here) at first, detested him for imprisoning me here and keeping me from the Master. Detested him for conspiring with my parents and being wary of me like everyone else. However, I accepted his offer of books and a hot meal, and I soon managed to at least tolerate his presence. 

I still could not speak any more than a word or two at a time; the effort exhausted me, and left me sick and frustrated.

I stayed locked in my room for perhaps a week, and refused to emerge for anything but meals — and even then I would often make a silent resolution to starve myself for a day or so, for no apparent reason other than to deny the nurses who insisted I eat. 

Ah! It’s lights-out, so I must continue later. Hopefully tomorrow I will have the time to write. 


End file.
